Not every snake that crawls out of the grass is looking for sunlight.
One and a half hours after Marlee’s escape, a silver-grey Ducati pulled into the Visitor parking lot at New Scotland Yard. The bike had another vehicle in tow.
Acting Chief Adonis Zodek and his Assistant, Detective Inspector Halifax Granger anxiously awaited Agent Eveningstar, her brother Agent Jazer and Walter, Marlee’s nephew, at New Scotland Yard’s building entrance near the Visitor parking lot. The purpose—an urgent meeting called by Agent Wendy Eveningstar.
Shortly thereafter, the secretive group of five individuals proceeded downstairs to New Scotland Yard’s high-tech basement boardroom. No sooner had the group of five taken their seats, one individual spoke:
“Well this is a bloody mess, isn’t it?”
“How did she get a copy of that report?”
“Are you sure she has it?”
“Yes, hopefully, she did not notice the tracker on the envelope. As soon as it was opened… we knew her location.”
“What happened with your surveillance Walter? You—lost her! I thought you claimed to be the best. You said, and let me quote you here. You said, ‘I know all her moves.'”
“Don’t mention my name in case someone is listening, please! I was tailing her when someone in a blue Porsche intercepted. He put himself between me and her. I could not get around him. So, unfortunately, I had to break off pursuit.”
“And you Chief,” said Agent Wendy Eveningstar, glaring at Acting Chief Adonis Zodek, “Why did you spook her? All you had to do was to lure her here and keep her here, until tomorrow. By then it will be too late for her to do anything!”
“Don’t go blaming me. You had her in the parking lot at Lloyds and let her go. Why didn’t you and your brother, and you (pointing to Marlee’s nephew Walter) all seize the opportunity to misdirect her efforts? Enough of this, I want out!”
“It is too late for that Chief. You’ve crawled into the pit with us.
Four hours later and well-rested, Marlee dialed the phone in the bedroom at her Aunt Marj’s private suite at an undisclosed location in East London’s exclusive Canary Wharf District.
“Thanks, Auntie for letting me stay for a while at your hideaway. I need to sort this mystery out unobstructed.”
“Take all the time you need, my dear girl. I have arranged for someone to watch out for you. I have trusted him with my life in the past. His name, Major Davon “Phoenix” Smithers. I believe you already “met” him…sort of. He will ring you to arrange a meet when he believes it is safe.”
“Good luck little Marlee. Get to the bottom of this sordid business. I hope you won’t think any less of me by what you find.”
“I will do my best Auntie. Safe travels; and, enjoy your time in The Hamptons. Love you.”
Major Davon Smithers, aka “Phoenix” hustled to his blue Porsche 911 and followed Marlee in her hasty retreat from New Scotland Yard’s visitor parking lot.
He parked, made himself comfortable, and settled in his seat. He kept a close eye on the highrise building in Canary Wharf where his patron Duchess Marjorum Neville Plantagenet d’ Rothchild, owned a private suite. She had asked him to keep her niece, Marlee safe.
A burly figure with a seemingly painted-on expressionless visage, Phoenix, a former Navy Seal, owed The Duchess a great debt. He was more than pleased, therefore, to agree to her request when she called him yesterday morning about her niece, Marlee.
Several hours passed uneventfully. Then he dialed Marlee’s number on his encrypted phone. It was now four p.m.
“Hello, Marlee, you don’t know me but your aunt, The Duchess asked me to provide you with backup. She brought me up to speed on events thus far. Can we meet for coffee? —Starbucks downstairs in the main lobby, in one hour?
“Yes, my aunt informed me that you would call. Okay, I will be there.”
“I suspect that you are being electronically tracked somehow. Do your own sweep of your belongings, locate and dispose of any tracing devices (bugs), as soon as possible. The people behind this—You cannot trust them. They are a pit of vipers, M’lady.”
“Okay will do. See you in an hour.”
Marlee quickly ended the call. She took her Technical Surveillance Counter-Measures (TSCM) Professional bug detector unit from her surveillance bag. With it, she scanned carefully her few possessions.
Soon thereafter, she found the tracker placed on the metal clip of the envelope—the envelope with the Top Secret Police report summary, secretly slipped into her pocket hours earlier outside MacDonalds.
She took a photo of the censored police report and emailed it to herself. Then shredded the hard copy and flushed its remains down the toilet.
Then, she placed the empty envelope with the tracker in her handbag and, made her way to the building’s main lobby via the private elevator in her aunt Marj’s suite.
From there, she walked to the tube (underground train) at Waterloo station. She weaved her way among the crowd of afternoon commuters and temporarily boarded the train to Charing Cross.
She then left the envelope under one of the seats, exiting the train before it departed Waterloo Station.
Checking often to ensure that she was not followed, Marlee then made her way on foot to the Starbucks in the lobby of the building where she had sought sanctuary.
***To be continued next Sunday***